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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26062639">Set down your honourable load</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimasilaw/pseuds/dimasilaw'>dimasilaw</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A3! (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>College AU, George Duke of Clarence, Homare’s just playing them, I’m not gonna put these in the character tags, M/M, Richard III of England - Freeform, among other RIII characters, just in case people read Plantagenet RPF but, one-man performances</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:35:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,050</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26062639</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimasilaw/pseuds/dimasilaw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hisoka watches Homare’s one-man production of Shakespeare’s Richard III.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arisugawa Homare/Mikage Hisoka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Set down your honourable load</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The feathery voice echoes from inside the cold dorm room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But what’s the matter, Clarence? May I know?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Homare turns around with a flourishing motion of his arm. He isn’t reading from a script. His facial expression flips in the blink of the eye—from obviously-feigned concern to a neutral expression.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yea, Richard, when I know; for I protest…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hisoka giggles, lifting a hand up to his mouth. That man is a master of Shakespeare. He peeks from the gap of the door as Homare, dressed in that ridiculous 1400s English getup, recites Richard, Duke of Gloucester’s and George, Duke of Clarence’s parts together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knocks on the door. So this is the one-man production of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Richard III </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s been blabbing on about and inviting everyone to come to. It isn’t too shabby, really. The “stage” (really, the spot in front of the empty leather couch) is set up with red, silky curtains and a few toy swords. Good enough for a one-man production, Hisoka supposes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Homare frowns gravely and crosses his arms as Richard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We are not safe, Clarence; we are not safe.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Homare stops in his tracks, eyes stapled open wide and jaw dropped the lowest it can go. A moment of astonishment is immortalised in his sparkling eyes as his mouth curves into a bright, toothy smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...May I come in, Arisu?” Hisoka asks, a pack of marshmallows and a soft penguin stuffed toy in his arms. He squeezes them close to him, scanning the scenery.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bookshelves all over the room, books strewn all over them, books on the floor, books on the couch, books on the bed. He knew Homare was an avid reader, but not this avid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Homare drops his arms by his side and clenches both fists, drawing them close to him. He jumps up and down, and his arms melt into excitement, flapping them in dizzying directions as Hisoka watches. Hisoka is at least happy that his love is happy. “Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course </span>
  </em>
  <span>you may enter! Finally, someone came to watch.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did I miss much?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s woken up (groggily, and slowly) from his afternoon nap to see this. He wouldn’t be surprised if he weren’t on time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, not at all,” Homare says, his arm looped around Hisoka’s back. He presses a gentle kiss to Hisoka’s cheek, leaving him red in the face and his heart leaping out of his chest. “Just the famous opening soliloquy, ‘Now is the winter of our discontent…’ but I would be pleased to give you a special performance of that later.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, good. I’d be happy to see it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hisoka lies down on his side on the couch, taking marshmallow by marshmallow. Homare returns to his little stage, beginning once again his performance. Hisoka smiles and watches. This is better than the production he’d seen of this before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“By heaven, I think there’s no man is secure but the queen's kindred and night-walking heralds that trudge betwixt the king and Mistress Shore,” Homare says with a dramatic air about his voice. Hisoka can tell he is deep into Clarence’s character, as if he were something he’d dissected part by part. “Heard ye not what an humble suppliant Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hisoka watches intently as Homare flips from character to character, altering his voice and his stance as he goes along. He does impressions, even, of Brakenbury and Hastings—whom Homare portrays with gruff, flat voices and rigid stances. Homare plays a gentle Richard, and a vile George—a hint of impatience and spite lies in Clarence’s voice when Homare speaks his words. Hisoka marvels at the performance before him, his eyes lighting up with glee. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then the sweet Richard’s voice. “When they are gone, then must I count my gains.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Homare’s natural, full voice. “Exit!” He walks off stage proudly, a smile plastered on his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he enters the stage once more, tears in his eyes. He is Lady Anne Neville, if Hisoka’s knowledge of the play serves him right. A high-pitched voice, a mess of tears. “Set down, set down your honourable load, if honour may be shrouded in a hearse whilst I awhile obsequiously lament—lament—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hisoka stares at him. He bites his lip. Why can’t Homare pull this off? What’s wrong? The tears in Homare’s eyes look so real. He’s even trembling, frozen in a dramatic flail.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lament...lament…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Come on, you can do this. Come on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Hisoka, I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” He hides his face in his hands and walks toward the couch, sitting down next to Hisoka. “I thought I’d be glad to do a one-man production, but unfortunately, this is quite difficult without a more substantial audience.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hisoka sits up. Homare’s outfit must be hot. “It’s okay, Arisu. ...I understand. I did not realise I’d be the only one here. Maybe I can have some people I know come, then you’ll have an audience.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Homare clasps his hands together, butting his face strangely close to Hisoka’s. “I would be pleased if you did!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...I would do that. Anything for you.” Hisoka wraps his arms around Homare’s. “But what should we do now? I know I didn’t walk three rooms over for nothing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Homare lights up. He wriggles loose from Hisoka’s hands, and his arms turn into a flapping motor again. “Do you want to hear my analysis of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Richard III</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hisoka smiles serenely. “I would be happy to hear it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, Richard’s character in the play isn’t static at all—it’s practically always changing. That was an excellent thing, on Shakespeare’s part, to show how fake his “loyal brother” façade is and how often he changes as a person. In the first act every scene is bookended by Richard addressing the audience, and even the show begins with Richard addressing the audience and treating them as co-conspirators, but this slowly fades from the dramatic structure and there are even scenes where Richard isn’t present. This shows a lot about how Richard begins to value actual human cooperation less and less, and he doesn’t care all that much if the audience agrees with him anymore or not—he’s established his morality and his wants. And…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hisoka wraps an arm around Homare. He could listen to this for hours.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(And he will.)</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is technically a followup to my other HisoHoma fic (speak low, if you speak love) but it’d be fine to read this independently too, so I didn’t put them in a series.</p><p>that analysis of Richard III is my own, dumped in a Discord channel as I was live-reacting to a production of the play.</p><p>Can you tell I love Shakespeare?</p></blockquote></div></div>
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